Catherine Astolfo's Blog, page 3
July 18, 2016
Brigus: A Newfie Blog
We arrive at the Seacliff in a bit of a fog - and not just weather related. We've been here before, three years ago, and totally enjoyed our stay. The house is a wonder of great design and no expense spared on the furnishings, art (all local) and workmanship. Every space is used creatively. Windows yawn widely onto the sea where possible.
Different rooms have different styles and sizes and, therefore, prices, but they're all comfortable.
We are greeted by Donna who asks if we're here for the wedding. Turns out there are two of them tomorrow - one in Brigus and one in Cupid's, and they are the talk of the towns. After settling in, we have a few drinks in the common room and crash onto our various beds.
We're in The Garret, which requires a lot of stairs to go down to the common room for a drink. It's worth the climb up and down, however, because the view out of our window is awesome.
We wake up to the bark of gulls and fishing boats steaming out to sea.
?Here's where Marival's lucky rocks begin to shine: Saturday begins with a rolling fog and brightens into a gloriously sunny day by noon.
After a fabulous breakfast, we walk into town and explore the sights.
?First, we walk through Captain Bob Bartlett's Tunnel, built for him to ease the offloading from his wharf to the main part of the village.
As we learn more about Captain Bartlett, known as a "gentleman adventurer," we come to admire his enterprising and gregarious nature. Not to mention the fact that he is courageous and smart.
Beautiful historic church.
A lecture on multiculturalism was taking place here.
Hawthorne Cottage, where Bob Bartlett's parents raised 10 kids, and where Captain Bob would return after his many adventures on the sea.
Bob added a second story so he'd have a room to sleep in when needed.
Bob Bartlett went on several trips to the Arctic, including three with Admiral Peary.
Once, when his ship sank, he coaxed his shipmates into surviving several days in an igloo. He left only as the ship went down, keeping himself occupied by listening to music and then throwing the vinyl into the fire to keep warm.
A truly fascinating character!
?You can walk everywhere in this little place and there are interesting points to visit on each corner. Everyone waves, gives the Newfie nod, or stops to talk, or all three.
The Old Forge, dressed up in a Jellybean colour.
The Old Stone House Museum was really interesting.
Of course, I found a ghost story, not to mention a humorous sign. I think there are humorous signs everywhere. Or is that simply our twisted way of thinking?
I've got to steal this story for one of my own!
I love it.
Okay then!
Better keep me pigs and goats under control.
This is our next door neighbour.
?Some good market, b'y!
And it was! Excellent homemade crafts, soaps, food (though we're way too full to partake) and of course, there's always fun.
HUH?
Brigus to St. John's...next
Different rooms have different styles and sizes and, therefore, prices, but they're all comfortable.
We are greeted by Donna who asks if we're here for the wedding. Turns out there are two of them tomorrow - one in Brigus and one in Cupid's, and they are the talk of the towns. After settling in, we have a few drinks in the common room and crash onto our various beds.
We're in The Garret, which requires a lot of stairs to go down to the common room for a drink. It's worth the climb up and down, however, because the view out of our window is awesome.
We wake up to the bark of gulls and fishing boats steaming out to sea.
?Here's where Marival's lucky rocks begin to shine: Saturday begins with a rolling fog and brightens into a gloriously sunny day by noon.
After a fabulous breakfast, we walk into town and explore the sights.
?First, we walk through Captain Bob Bartlett's Tunnel, built for him to ease the offloading from his wharf to the main part of the village.
As we learn more about Captain Bartlett, known as a "gentleman adventurer," we come to admire his enterprising and gregarious nature. Not to mention the fact that he is courageous and smart.
Beautiful historic church.
A lecture on multiculturalism was taking place here.
Hawthorne Cottage, where Bob Bartlett's parents raised 10 kids, and where Captain Bob would return after his many adventures on the sea.
Bob added a second story so he'd have a room to sleep in when needed.
Bob Bartlett went on several trips to the Arctic, including three with Admiral Peary.
Once, when his ship sank, he coaxed his shipmates into surviving several days in an igloo. He left only as the ship went down, keeping himself occupied by listening to music and then throwing the vinyl into the fire to keep warm.
A truly fascinating character!
?You can walk everywhere in this little place and there are interesting points to visit on each corner. Everyone waves, gives the Newfie nod, or stops to talk, or all three.
The Old Forge, dressed up in a Jellybean colour.
The Old Stone House Museum was really interesting.
Of course, I found a ghost story, not to mention a humorous sign. I think there are humorous signs everywhere. Or is that simply our twisted way of thinking?
I've got to steal this story for one of my own!
I love it.
Okay then!
Better keep me pigs and goats under control.
This is our next door neighbour.
?Some good market, b'y!
And it was! Excellent homemade crafts, soaps, food (though we're way too full to partake) and of course, there's always fun.
HUH?
Brigus to St. John's...next
July 17, 2016
France to Canada, A Newfie Blog
July 15: Our morning is drizzly, although the wind is warm. We do a little shopping, but it¡¯s awfully expensive, especially since our dollar and the Euro are still far apart.?
?
We explore the museum, which is filled with artifacts and information about the history of St. Pierre.?
?Even the shape of the building is interesting!
We can't help it - we have a good laugh over this one. It might become our new swear word, Christ on a Fondue!
We vote for our favourite photograph under the theme of The Raging Sea. They¡¯re all so good, it¡¯s difficult to choose. We gaze at the guillotine, one that was used in executions here on the island, up close to the horror of this death machine.
?
The rest of the day isn¡¯t as fun as the rest of our days have been. The return on the ferry is rocky because of the enormous waves and pounding rain. When we get to Fortune, it¡¯s still raining hard. All the way along the road ¨C and it¡¯s a long, long drive today ¨C the rain and fog keep us locked in their grip.
Cugina¡¯s gift: a bag full of ¡°Two for the Road¡± snacks. These keep us happy!
We¡¯ve entered the high rock hills and thick forests again. Bent over in the wind, the trees arch themselves against the driving rain. Rivers flow hard and full. ?The sea throws itself onshore. Water puddles on the roadsides and roars up from under the wheels of our car. In here it¡¯s dry and quiet as John fights the streams and ruts that have become small ditches of rain. Ironically we¡¯re suddenly in Swift Current.
Dark clouds are visible on the mountainsides, swirling and fighting in the storm. ?The fog wins and we drive through the clouds. We can just see Wendy and Dennis ahead of us. We make a pit stop at Goobies ¨C the town ¨C and are back in the fog and mist once more.
With signs warning of moose and the rain pouring down, I remember Donna¡¯s opinion that we are lucky not to have seen one. ?We¡¯d been complaining that, in three trips, we haven¡¯t seen a single moose. ¡°When you see them, they¡¯re usually coming up from the side of the road into your path, at dusk or dawn, and you don¡¯t want that.¡± True that!
About 90 k¡¯s from St. John¡¯s, the clouds go back to the sky and the rain clears. We figure the wind that¡¯s tugging our car this way and that is blowing the rain toward Brigus.
However - Marival's lucky rocks do bring us the sunshine...
July 16, 2016
St. Pierre - across the sea: A Newfie Blog
July 13, continued: At first glance, the harbour of St. Pierre appears similar to Newfoundland, with its clapboard houses and jellybean colours. Once we begin walking around, however, we notice the European/French architectural differences: doorsteps right at the street, small enclosed porches at the front, narrow roadways.
People are friendly and greet us with smiles and "Bonjour!"
We find Hotel Robert quite easily, a white clapboard building that has been a hotel for years. Their own description contains everything you need to know: " Located along the ocean, it was built during Prohibition era in the 1920's and has counted among its clients the famous Al Capone. 3 minutes walking from the ferry terminal, spacious and comfortable rooms." We are pleasantly surprised by the size of our rooms: they are nothing like the tiny Parisian hotel accommodations. Our rooms have been nicely redone, with laminate flooring that is easy to keep clean - and they are.
And across the hall - Elmer and Veronica - the other couple from Abbie's B & B.
The sky is clear and blue, those little white clouds following us, the gulls' wings etched across them.
After checking in, we look for food, but in this way they do follow the European tradition of eating later. We are forced to have barley sandwiches at a local pub. That's okay with the women, as our bartender looks like the lumberjack out of a movie that escapes me right now.
Afterward, we return to our hotel for a great dinner in the restaurant.
July 14: Bastille Day
<!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Times; panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} @font-face {font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:128; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:fixed; mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;} @font-face {font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:128; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:fixed; mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;} @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page WordSection1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} </style> --> <div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">During the night, a foggy rain has moved in that almost - but not quite! - spoils the day's festivities.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">First thing, we embark on a mini-van tour of the island and learn so much from our guide, Marival (we think that's how it's spelled).?There¡¯s quite a stunning war memorial just in front of the St. Pierre Museum, a tribute to 132 men from the island who died in world wars. That¡¯s a large number when you consider the small population at the time.?</span><br /><br /><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">?</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Weaving in and out of the narrow streets,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Marival points out many interesting structures and places:?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">the Daguerre barracks ¨C a building that has served many purposes, including storage of alcohol during the North American Prohibition;?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">the cathedral;?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">the cemetery with its above-ground monuments and vaults;?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Ile aux Marins across the strait ¨C a small community that has become a museum village;?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">stunning views of the sea; and, like the ad says, a colouring box of houses and salines (or fishing sheds).?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">?</span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Rolling hills straighten out into flat green plains or cliffs where ocean waves crash. Now and then a horse grazes in a meadow and I think of Owen. Marival gives us each a rock from the seaside, for good luck.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">?</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">We meet Marival¡¯s sister and daughter on the roads. We get a good sense of the community from our guide, the warmth and closeness of the various characters.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">After the tour and a comfort stop at the hotel, we walk to the Place du General de Gaulle. This large meeting place was once the drying grounds for cod, but is now used for celebrations. Today is Bastille Day!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">?We join the festivities with gusto. Free wine, bread and sausage, flags, music and laughter. Here is the bartender from our first pub! There is the guy who works on the ferry. Marival¡¯s sister is here with her family. We almost feel as though we belong.?</span><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">News reporters interview the Mayor; they don't see famous author Catherine Astolfo passing by.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></span></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="" width="239" /></a><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">?</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Mid-afternoon we have fun watching the boat race. The theme this year is recycling, so all the boats are made from used material, like empty water bottles, large and small, potato sacking and pool floats. They splash one another, try to block their progress, and generally have a blast. Along with the crowd we yell allez, allez! The winning team is the only one who has a woman on it. YAY.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="" width="240" /></a></div><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Cold beer and hot chili keep us watching the entertainment and waving our flags.?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">As the time for dinner nears, we leave the fun and freshen up at the hotel. We¡¯re a bit early and are denied entry at Le Feu Braise. See my review on Trip Advisor.</span><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">After dinner we head back the Place de General de Gaulle hoping to see the fireworks. However, the wind and rain a heavy fog have set in and halt those proceedings. We listen to some of the music and eventually wander back to the hotel.?</span><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">What a fabulous day!</span><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">We don¡¯t know until we turn on the television in our room that the Bastille Day celebrations in Nice, so similar to the wonderful time we experienced, has been turned into a dreadful tragedy by a terrorist. Not to mention the fact that my cousin Sean and his wife are in the city, but safe, thankfully. We feel so badly for those who were killed or who lost loved ones, people just wandering around enjoying life and one another, exactly like we were.</span><br /></div>
People are friendly and greet us with smiles and "Bonjour!"
We find Hotel Robert quite easily, a white clapboard building that has been a hotel for years. Their own description contains everything you need to know: " Located along the ocean, it was built during Prohibition era in the 1920's and has counted among its clients the famous Al Capone. 3 minutes walking from the ferry terminal, spacious and comfortable rooms." We are pleasantly surprised by the size of our rooms: they are nothing like the tiny Parisian hotel accommodations. Our rooms have been nicely redone, with laminate flooring that is easy to keep clean - and they are.
And across the hall - Elmer and Veronica - the other couple from Abbie's B & B.
The sky is clear and blue, those little white clouds following us, the gulls' wings etched across them.
After checking in, we look for food, but in this way they do follow the European tradition of eating later. We are forced to have barley sandwiches at a local pub. That's okay with the women, as our bartender looks like the lumberjack out of a movie that escapes me right now.
Afterward, we return to our hotel for a great dinner in the restaurant.
July 14: Bastille Day
<!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Times; panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} @font-face {font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:128; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:fixed; mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;} @font-face {font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:128; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:fixed; mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;} @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page WordSection1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} </style> --> <div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">During the night, a foggy rain has moved in that almost - but not quite! - spoils the day's festivities.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">First thing, we embark on a mini-van tour of the island and learn so much from our guide, Marival (we think that's how it's spelled).?There¡¯s quite a stunning war memorial just in front of the St. Pierre Museum, a tribute to 132 men from the island who died in world wars. That¡¯s a large number when you consider the small population at the time.?</span><br /><br /><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">?</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Weaving in and out of the narrow streets,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Marival points out many interesting structures and places:?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">the Daguerre barracks ¨C a building that has served many purposes, including storage of alcohol during the North American Prohibition;?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">the cathedral;?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">the cemetery with its above-ground monuments and vaults;?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Ile aux Marins across the strait ¨C a small community that has become a museum village;?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">stunning views of the sea; and, like the ad says, a colouring box of houses and salines (or fishing sheds).?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">?</span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Rolling hills straighten out into flat green plains or cliffs where ocean waves crash. Now and then a horse grazes in a meadow and I think of Owen. Marival gives us each a rock from the seaside, for good luck.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">?</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">We meet Marival¡¯s sister and daughter on the roads. We get a good sense of the community from our guide, the warmth and closeness of the various characters.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">After the tour and a comfort stop at the hotel, we walk to the Place du General de Gaulle. This large meeting place was once the drying grounds for cod, but is now used for celebrations. Today is Bastille Day!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">?We join the festivities with gusto. Free wine, bread and sausage, flags, music and laughter. Here is the bartender from our first pub! There is the guy who works on the ferry. Marival¡¯s sister is here with her family. We almost feel as though we belong.?</span><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">News reporters interview the Mayor; they don't see famous author Catherine Astolfo passing by.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></span></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="" width="239" /></a><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">?</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Mid-afternoon we have fun watching the boat race. The theme this year is recycling, so all the boats are made from used material, like empty water bottles, large and small, potato sacking and pool floats. They splash one another, try to block their progress, and generally have a blast. Along with the crowd we yell allez, allez! The winning team is the only one who has a woman on it. YAY.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="" width="240" /></a></div><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Cold beer and hot chili keep us watching the entertainment and waving our flags.?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">As the time for dinner nears, we leave the fun and freshen up at the hotel. We¡¯re a bit early and are denied entry at Le Feu Braise. See my review on Trip Advisor.</span><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">After dinner we head back the Place de General de Gaulle hoping to see the fireworks. However, the wind and rain a heavy fog have set in and halt those proceedings. We listen to some of the music and eventually wander back to the hotel.?</span><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">What a fabulous day!</span><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;">We don¡¯t know until we turn on the television in our room that the Bastille Day celebrations in Nice, so similar to the wonderful time we experienced, has been turned into a dreadful tragedy by a terrorist. Not to mention the fact that my cousin Sean and his wife are in the city, but safe, thankfully. We feel so badly for those who were killed or who lost loved ones, people just wandering around enjoying life and one another, exactly like we were.</span><br /></div>
July 15, 2016
Grand Bank, Fortune to France: A Newfie Blog
July 13: Abbie's Garden B & B is my favourite place of any B & B or hotel we've stayed in - and that's saying a lot. (Well, maybe there was that two-bedroom in LA.) Donna is a creative, friendly, warm host.
The chickens think we've got food for them. They still peep like babies, since they're very young.
We walk through the flowers and bushes and trails, swing on the garden swing, talk to the chickens and Mia, the resident dog. Breakfast is indeed sumptuous - particularly the plump raisin-filled scones!
?The day is filled with sunshine and warmth!
We drive into Fortune, only a few kilometres away, and book our ferry passage. Then we return to Grand Bank, where we tour the Seafarer's Museum and Harris House.
The museum is an "open warehouse" where artifacts from the seafaring life is showcased. Like this hearse and coffin!
Imagine these, filled to the brim with fish.
The morning sunshine starts off slowly, but soon the sky is one of those perfect blues, dotted with white clouds.
The sea is calm, a deep dark blue.
Vince strolls the harbour while we explore the beautiful Harris House.
Notice the widow's walk on the top! Dennis mentions how tense the women must have been, watching the sea for their loved ones' ships to come in.
Of course, we have to climb up to the widow's walk and gaze over the ocean the way they might have done years before.
We return to Fortune and Vince and I visit the geological centre. We learn a great deal about the rock formations here. They have the thickest boundary of rocks, which means the layers over the centuries are exposed and can be studied. Quite amazing.
Off we go to France, the island of St. Pierre.
The ferry is a huge catamaran, so it's a smooth ride across the sea.
Here we are on St. Pierre, a completely different cultural just 45 minutes across the water.
The chickens think we've got food for them. They still peep like babies, since they're very young.
We walk through the flowers and bushes and trails, swing on the garden swing, talk to the chickens and Mia, the resident dog. Breakfast is indeed sumptuous - particularly the plump raisin-filled scones!
?The day is filled with sunshine and warmth!
We drive into Fortune, only a few kilometres away, and book our ferry passage. Then we return to Grand Bank, where we tour the Seafarer's Museum and Harris House.
The museum is an "open warehouse" where artifacts from the seafaring life is showcased. Like this hearse and coffin!
Imagine these, filled to the brim with fish.
The morning sunshine starts off slowly, but soon the sky is one of those perfect blues, dotted with white clouds.
The sea is calm, a deep dark blue.
Vince strolls the harbour while we explore the beautiful Harris House.
Notice the widow's walk on the top! Dennis mentions how tense the women must have been, watching the sea for their loved ones' ships to come in.
Of course, we have to climb up to the widow's walk and gaze over the ocean the way they might have done years before.
We return to Fortune and Vince and I visit the geological centre. We learn a great deal about the rock formations here. They have the thickest boundary of rocks, which means the layers over the centuries are exposed and can be studied. Quite amazing.
Off we go to France, the island of St. Pierre.
The ferry is a huge catamaran, so it's a smooth ride across the sea.
Here we are on St. Pierre, a completely different cultural just 45 minutes across the water.
July 13, 2016
Bergs: A Newfie Blog
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I can¡¯t wait to start colouring.<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dennis tries to light our fire one more time without success.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b>July 10:</b> In the morning we have our scones and jam and coffee before setting off to line up for the ferry. Our timing is perfect and we drive onto the vessel nearly at the front. Despite a cool wind that has moved in during the night, we have a pleasant trip, watching the birds circle under the morning sun. We blow a kiss goodbye to our sail-ship iceberg.<br /><br />Off we go to Trinity. With only a minor stop in Gander for munchies and gas, we power through to the little village. Here the trees are once more plump and crowded, filled in with bushes. Wild flowers complement the green with purple clover, yellow buttercups and white and orange daisies.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br />We weave through construction, annoying drivers, and gorgeous scenery in turn. When we turn off the Trans Canada Highway, we can glimpse the coastline through the trees, sparkling blue in the sun. Little coves and tickles, the bright colours of nature and people intertwined.<br /><br />The sun follows us all the way. Just as we round the corner into the valley of Trinity Bay, we notice the cap of clouds that fits perfectly over the town. We¡¯re in for a rough ride of weather!<br /><br />After checking into our lovely rooms in the quaint B & B, Ericksen Premises, we enjoy a cold beer in the common room.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br />We take a walk around the village while we can do so. As Wendy says in our booklet, ¡°Where else does the end of the rainbow have a street address? The gorgeous town of Trinity really does look like a film set.¡± The clapboard buildings, a church here, lots of B & B¡¯s there, the Rising Tide Theatre, homes, even a bank, are all those deep, gorgeous Newfoundland colours, or at least trimmed with deep reds or greens. Crab and lobster traps line the ocean. The lighthouse beams outward.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br />Trinity seems to be the lupin capital of Canada. The purple, pink and white flowers are everywhere, lush and assertive and glorious.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br />After our walk we drink and laugh and talk in the common room once more. Dennis is supposed to be out scouting a trail to walk the next morning, but he suddenly appears with a lobster treat in hand. Sumptuous appetizer! He had to go through a lot of angst to get the lobster too. At least three beers and a Trinity hat were required.<br /><br />Dinner at the Twine Loft is exquisite. We actually moan over the melt-in-your-mouth cod. As you can see from the antics on the way back (Where¡¯s Waldo? Which of these does not belong?), we have fun.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br />Unfortunately, the rain sets in. There¡¯s a weather advisory for tomorrow afternoon. We¡¯ve booked a trip with Kris Prince on the Sea of Whales Adventure. They call and ask us if we want to switch to the morning, as they may not be able to go out in the afternoon.<br /><br />Thus we¡¯re up early once more. In a drizzling cool rain, we drive over to Princeton and meet Kris and Cory at the Zodiac. ¡°Every year, 10,000 whales get a front row seat to go people watching.¡±<br /><br />We look handsome and hardy in our orange Helly-Hanson suits. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="" /></a></div><br /><br />We perch on the benches of the boat, ready for the adventure. In hail and rain and wind and cloud, that Zodiac sails over the sea, dipping into troughs of waves, crashing through the water. It¡¯s magnificent! We¡¯re chilled and crunched and tossed but we don¡¯t care.<br /><br />We see dolphins and eagles and a brief glimpse of the back of a sei whale. No fins or humpbacks come to greet us, as they have the last two trips. But we are mollified with the close encounter with two water and wind carved icebergs, one that looks flat enough to skate on, one that resembles a dinosaur with its head flattened on the sea, its legs tucked in behind. The aqua layers are stunning in the white ice and snow layers. Spectacular!<br /><br />We see where The Grand Seduction was filmed. It turns out that the childhood home of one of our other passengers, Mark, was used in the movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">? </span>We have a mug-up of hot chocolate and cookies, listen to Kris tell us about an arch of rock, a waterfall, the eagle chick, various species of whales and fish, his childhood on the sea.<br /><br />I have to admit to a deep disappointment at no whale encounter. That¡¯s been the highlight of my trips here. However, the icebergs almost take their place.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br />When we get back, we eat hot soup and enjoy some beverages of a social nature to warm up. Wendy has a hankering for more of those magnificent chunks of glacier. Kris told her there was a magnificent specimen up the coast. Off Vince and Wendy and Dennis and I go, wind-battered and knocked-about, but determined.<br /><br />In Keels, we discover three beautifully shaped bergs, one that could be the twin of our sail ship from Fogo. Has it followed us?<br /><br />We almost miss, but luckily spot from the road, the biggest one of all. It¡¯s a slanted piece, huge, caught in the little cove near Keels. Getting lost means we check out more lovely harbour villages than we might have seen.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br />We make up for lost drinking time back at Ericksen¡¯s, talk to other patrons of the Inn who are from Ottawa. The rain pounds the rooftops and the land now, a real punch from some aggressive clouds. Luckily our dinner is right here at the Inn, in Sophia¡¯s Restaurant.<br /><br />Another wonderful day and night! As the booklet says, ¡°In a world oddly bent on conformity, there¡¯s something very refreshing about a place that¡¯s anything but. For proof, look no further than the towns of Heart¡¯s Content, Heart¡¯s Desire, or Heart¡¯s Delight. Where you¡¯ll come to two conclusions: why they call it Trinity Bay and the realization that in a land like this, colour comes in many forms.¡±<br /><br />Our gift tonight: after nearly a full week of travel, detergent for laundering our step-ins.<br /><br /><b>July 12:</b> Breakfast at 8 a.m. is more than satisfying. We¡¯re in the cars and on the road to Grand Bank (Grand Banc) by 9:15. As we work our way south, the landscape changes often. From sea inlets and fat trees, to scrub brush and grass and giant rocks, along with those skinny evergreens bent over from the wind.<br /><br />During the night, Trinity was lashed with a giant rainstorm, thunder and lightning, but we are gradually moving out of the rain into a cloud and sun mix.<br /><br />We stop at an Esso station with a general store attached and washrooms. In Newfoundland, this civilized province, you can buy beer and wine at the local store too! As we leave, we notice the following sign: ¡°Note that for every beer bottle returned, one must be purchased." Followed by this:<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br />We also feel that happy warmer breeze on our faces! We even have to don our sunglasses.<br /><br />The biggest place we¡¯ve seen in days is Mary¡¯s Town. There¡¯s a Tim¡¯s and a McDonald¡¯s and a Sobey¡¯s and even, horror of horrors ¨C stoplights.<br /><br />Then up over another hill, we sea the ocean, and the sign for Abbie's Garden B & B. Down a short road, through an archway, we enter another world! Exquisite gardens cover the property. Our rooms are well appointed and very clean. And, best of all, the sun comes out.<br /><br />We spend the afternoon touring Grand Bank - a gorgeous place - and eating pizza and drinking on the deck, which is now bathed in sunshine.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div>We have the most delicious dinner, cooked by Donna. We meet another couple staying here and have great conversations throughout the meal. Afterward, full and happy, we get dressed a little more warmly for the nightly bon fire. We sit around the lovely orange flames talking - and Donna plays and sings us a song. Perfect! This is a place I could stay in a lot longer! Tomorrow we're off to St. Pierre (France!) after what I imagine will be a sumptuous breakfast.<br /><br />Our gift from Cugina: Lobster Poop!
July 10, 2016
Fogo - El Fuego: A Newfie Blog
<!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; mso-font-charset:78; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;} @font-face {font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; mso-font-charset:78; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;} @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page WordSection1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} </style> <br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><style><!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Times; panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} @font-face {font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:128; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:fixed; mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;} @font-face {font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:128; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:fixed; mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;} @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} p {mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-margin-top-alt:auto; margin-right:0in; mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; margin-left:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Times; mso-fareast-font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"£Í£Ó Ã÷³¯"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page WordSection1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} </style><br /><span style="font-size: small;">July 8:? Breakfast is tasty and plentiful and the coffee is great! We are up and packed into the car before 9 a.m.?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Our gift from Cugina, the consummate travel organizer ¨C Poo Pourri, for the shared bathroom in our next accommodation. I forgot to mention the first one ¨C a CD of traditional Newfie songs, which we played all the way here.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Along the way, there¡¯s only one delay ¨C a police officer with radar. What the hell?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">We reach the Fogo Island Ferry port in perfect time. It¡¯s a blue sky, lovely fluffy clouds, and sun, but the air is chilly. Breathing in the salt-infused air fills us with energy.</span><br /><br /><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: small;">?</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">We can see the ferry making her way toward us, slow and majestic. Emphasis on the slow.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">It's interesting watching the workers jigsaw us onto the ferry. We're lucky we all fit. It's not easy to navigate out of the cars, but we finally make our way up on deck. From here we can watch the dark blue waters rush by. It's sunny, windy and cool, but in the protected spots, we can thoroughly enjoy the view.?</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">?And there be an iceberg! Bleach white, shaped like the flat body and wing of a plane, languishing on the sea, cuddled up to an island of rock. Beautiful, mournful, slice of ancient history, sliding into oblivion.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: small;"></span><span style="font-size: small;">Disembarking on the island is fast and easy, in comparison to the load. We're now on the largest of Newfoundland's offshore island, 25 km long and 14 km wide, communities that avoided resettlement by voting against it. There are eleven villages ¡°each with its own distinctive flare and allure.¡± The inhabitants reinvented themselves into a haven for artists and tourists instead of the previously abundant fishery trade</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">The land is filled with short, skinny trees, that green pallet once more, fed by the rain and water. Rocks are piled everywhere like dinosaur bones.?</span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;">Moss and lichen carpet the ground. Sun glints off the water. Post card houses, red and ochre and green and blue, trimmed with white, little red fishing sheds everywhere. Orange and yellow and purple wildflowers wave in the wind. Butterflies flit through the grasses.?</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Our Oasis by the Sea cottage, in Stag Harbour, is gloriously situated on the bay, where the breezes are fresh and cool. It's quiet and peaceful and lovely. The cottage only has one bathroom, which is a bit of a problem for us old folk, but we manage with good humour and Poo Pourri. </span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br /><br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our back yard at the cottage!</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;">We take a drive into the town of Fogo and have lunch at Mudder's.?</span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Next we see Brimstone Head, "a piece of rocky landscape jutting into the sky. The Flat Earth Society believes this is one of the four corners of the earth." John and Dennis leave us so they can climb to the top. Last time they were here, Wendy and Dennis climbed and looked down into the "aqua of an iceberg."</span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-size: small;">Wendy, Maire, Vince and I drive back through the town. We sneak down a side street and stare at a small (in relation to the others) iceberg that looks like Nessie the Lochness Monster curled up on the water. We backtrack to another trail up the Fogo Head, where we stand and stare at the larger of the ice bergs, carved like a huge sail ship.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">We meet a fella up there who loves to talk. He states he doesn't see the point of climbing up to the top of the hill. "You can see everything down here and once you're up there, it's all just farther away," he says. We like that reason for not climbing the 300 steps. Of course we tell John and Dennis that we did it, but for some reason they don¡¯t believe us.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">When we collect John and Dennis from Brimstone (they have pictures to prove they made it to the top), we head to Joe Batt's Arm, scout out a store and the Fogo Island Inn, where you can get a room for a mere $1000 for the night. Justin and Sophie and the kids were there last month!? We try to get a reservation for lunch tomorrow, but they are fully booked.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">We have dinner at Nicole's Caf¨¦, yummy fish and veggies and, of course, beer, wine and Mermaids. By the time we make our way home, the sun is spreading a beautiful pink colour all across the tops of the trees, filtering down on our bay, and the boats are silent and all we can hear is the rush of water and calls of?gulls and insects.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">We decide to sit around the campfire. Cugina has brought some beautiful Chinese lanterns. Unfortunately, no one has matches and the lighter in the house doesn¡¯t work. We contemplate what to do as we look at the instructions for the lantern. The list of more than a dozen don¡¯ts is rather daunting.? One, for instance, warns that we should not consume alcohol while launching the lights. We¡¯re past that rule. We¡¯re also not wearing fire retardant clothing. But wait ¨C we still don¡¯t have matches.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Someone suggests lighting a piece of paper from the stove. Dennis disappears inside. Suddenly out he dashes outside with a flame that seems to come out of his sleeve.?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">He throws it on the fire just in time. On top we pile cardboard and paper and wood. Even the sheet of lantern instructions goes in. (Later, I come to regret that action.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Soon there¡¯s a lovely orange-flamed fire crackling in the pit. Smoke keeps the ¡®squitoes away. The moon is a slight white sliver and stars begin to pop.</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">? </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Then the wind dies down. Lantern time.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">First they struggle to get the little fuel square lit with a burning stick. Cugina has to go to You Tube to play the instructions on how to light a lantern, since someone burned the instructions! Next we have to wait until the lantern fills with warm air before it¡¯s ready to let go into the sky. That little pink bit of cloth can soar! Soon it looks like a dot beside the moon.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="" width="240" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="" width="240" /></a></span></div><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">I really can¡¯t believe we have done this. I¡¯d give the grandkids hell for such behaviour. Still, we can¡¯t stop laughing until the fire goes out and the lantern makes a graceful descent.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">July 9: In the morning, we go searching for food. It¡¯s a beautiful day, warm, all the colours enhanced by the sunlight. We drive through Joe Batt¡¯s Arm toward Tilting.?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">The landscape turns scrubby. Light and dark lichen blanket the rock. The large iceberg is closer now and we can see one large piece on one side, the ¡°sail¡± carving on the other. Later we realize that the two pieces have separated.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Suddenly within the somewhat barren horizon rise unique shocks of architecture. Black, white, sharp angles, they¡¯re out by themselves, suspended on the seashore, surrounded by some of the most picturesque scenery in the world. These studios are completely off grid, according to Cugina¡¯s information. They are paired with a salt box, a traditional Newfoundland house, where they can access some amenities. ¡°Fogo Island is a place of stunning beauty and the setting for an exciting sociological and economic experiment in which architecture, as a vital component within the fabrication of culture and the identity of a place, plays a central role.¡±?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">?Lovely clapboard homes with Jellybean colours and trim overlook the harbour. Red fishing huts, some old and beautifully preserved, others new and marked as man caves, perch on wooden docks jutting into the sea. ?Lobster and crab traps are piled at the side of the docks.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">We drive onto a boat launch, still looking for breakfast, and can¡¯t help but take pictures. From the open sea, a punt (small fishing boat) drives up and latches to the side. One of the fishermen calls out, ¡°Do you want to see some cod?¡± Of course we say yes!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">The men are friendly and clearly excited about their haul. When Dennis holds up one of the cod, it¡¯s nearly as long as he is. One of the fishermen turns out to be Roy Dwyer, whose book I noticed in the Wind and Waves store. He shows us how a jigger works. They attach squid to the hook, catch the cod by the mouth, and jig it up and down so they can haul it up.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Dennis has a talk with a local lady, who tells us there are no restaurants in Tilting. She also doesn¡¯t invite us to her house for breakfast.?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Thus we end up back at Nicole¡¯s in Joe Batt¡¯s Arm.? Now it¡¯s brunch and the full plates reflect that. I buy scones for tomorrow¡¯s breakfast and John gets the coffee.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">We decide to go back to the Wind and Waves and buy Roy¡¯s book.?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Back in the town of Fogo, we head for the Lion¡¯s Den trail. We¡¯re able to drive a good way up the hill and stop at the Interpretation Centre.</span><br /><br /><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="" width="240" /></a><span style="font-size: small;">?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Wendy, Vince, John, Dennis and I start up the hill toward the trail. The information tells us that it¡¯s just over 5 km long and has views of abandoned villages. We only make it up to the ¡°original Marconi site.¡± The house that used to be home to the wireless operators and their families is now a gazebo and only a flag marks the spot from which the signals would swim through the air.?</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Breathtaking views of the town of Fogo from here! Including Brimstone and the hill that we did (not) climb.?</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Our tour of the interpretation centre is very interesting. The wireless centres sometimes doubled as the seat of justice, so I get to try out the witness box. Perfect for a crime writer.</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">????</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Back at the cottage, we bask in the brilliant sun, follow the flights of the gulls, listen to the quiet. The tide is in, so the kelp is covered and most of the rocks look like hippo heads. A couple of beers later, a few of us are ready to move again.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Wendy, Dennis and I drive through Fogo and check out a couple of restaurants for dinner. In the first one, the food smells good, but it¡¯s extremely plain and windowless. The cockroach in the urinal when I use the washroom does it. No thanks. We head over to the Beaches Family Restaurant, which turns out to be great. We make reservations. Dennis checks the washroom this time. No bugs.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">We drive through the town and bungle our way into Joe Batt¡¯s where we take pictures of the punts in a string across the bay. They¡¯re ready for the race that happens soon ¨C though not soon enough for us to participate. Shame, that.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Wendy and I visit Mona¡¯s Craft store, where I buy a lap quilt that Mona made. I like this feisty woman instantly; there is something about her creative spirit that speaks to me, so I simply had to get a fragment of her work. Wendy buys jam for the scones.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">We drive up (against the rules) the hill and do a quick scout of the Fogo Island Inn. It¡¯s not as impressive up close. The ship shape isn¡¯t so visible and it¡¯s just plain white clapboard (or something). We¡¯re happy we didn¡¯t pay $2800 for a night there.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Dinner at the Beaches is delicious. Very full once again, we return to the cottage for another fire. Despite some borrowed matches, we can¡¯t get the fire going. Karma for the borrowed matches. We do have to get up early to catch the ferry, so most of us get out of the cool mosquito night and go to bed.</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>
July 7, 2016
Newfoundland 2016
July 5, 2016: Our grandson, Jordan, drives us to Brampton, where we¡¯ll stay the night with Maire and John. I look at him as he takes over the wheel. He¡¯s 25 years old, a man, tall and handsome and cool. He has huge brown eyes and wears a hat with an outward cockiness that is both charming and avant-garde.? Whenever I get to the edge of a trip, no matter how much I am looking forward to it, I suddenly don¡¯t want to leave.
July 6, 2016: At 6 a.m. we catch a cab with Maire and John, meet Wendy and Dennis at the airport, and off we go. Now I¡¯m excited, looking forward to the new adventure. I sleep until twenty minutes before landing, so I¡¯m refreshed and raring to go. Our B & B, the Elizabeth Manor, is not one of our favourites, mainly because we discover we have to share a bathroom that¡¯s on two different floors. Sharing¡¯s okay, but climbing in the middle of the night is not. Wendy and Dennis insist on doing the climb, though we do search for a bucket. The gardens out back are spectacular. Too bad they¡¯re drenched from the pouring rain during the night and early this morning. It continues to drizzle, but the greenery is bursting because of it.?
As Wendy¡¯s booklet-itinerary tells us, being in St. John¡¯s means you are ¡°enveloped in colour¡± ¨C even in the rain. ¡°Take a walk through Jellybean Row, bearing witness to colours you just won¡¯t find anywhere else, with names like Bakeapple Jam and Foggy Dew.¡±
We head straight to the Duke of Duckworth. The Republic of Doyle filmed here often; it was featured as their favourite pub and partly owned by the main character. As cheesy as it was, Vince and I always enjoyed that show.?
We walk from there along Water Street, visiting some interesting little shops, then we hit George St., which we pretty much have to ourselves at this time of day. O¡¯Reilly¡¯s is the pub we enjoyed the last couple of times, so we spend a couple of hours there, listening to the music and drinking beer. The Irish influence on the songs makes you want to sing along ¨C and we do.
At Kelly¡¯s, we discover Ray (Blacky) O¡¯Leary, who has a great voice, plays both the guitar and the boron (an Irish drum). We sing, dance, and, judging by how I feel this morning, consume a decent (indecent?) amount of alcohol.? A quick visit to Yellow Belly rounds off the evening.
The beds in our house are very comfortable, the price was right for the sharesies, so I¡¯d recommend it for a stay in the city. Nice and close to downtown, too. Try not to get the sharsie, if you have a choice.
July 7, 2016: For our twenty-seventh wedding anniversary, I have given myself a hangover. Luckily I get to sleep in a bit and after breakfast, I feel a bit perkier. Though Maire says perky people in the morning aren¡¯t welcome anyway.?
?Off we go to Grand Falls-Windsor, along the winding road from the Avalon Peninsula toward the Bonavista Peninsula, through thick forests and a pallet of green that has every shade and nuance you can dream up. Here and there a deep blue pops up in the form of lakes and rivers and ponds. Mist dances across the water until the sun comes out to bathe it all in silver. Now and then we drive up and across treeless and moss-covered terrain, the Newfoundland Rock. We pass signs to Conception Bay, Come by Chance, Heart¡¯s Delight, Dildo, Deep Bight, Tickle Harbour.
As our booklet tells us: ¡°Unique adventure awaits. What¡¯s around the next bend in the road? A picturesque fishing village? A breaching humpback? A glistening iceberg? There are fiords and mountain vistas of stunning beauty. Places where sky meets horizon in blazing colour, and where stands of spruce flow in an evergreen sea.¡± And it¡¯s true. We¡¯ll suddenly come around a corner and there is a sulky blue bay, white-tipped waves rolling, a ship slicing through. On one side sheer rock points to the sky, their carved shapes laced with red and black and white. We make a comfort stop at the Terra Nova Provincial Park information centre and wander through the exhibits. Birds and animals that need protection, sea life, and a beautiful vista over the lake.
When we finish the drive, we're a little tired, and have time only to brush teeth, powder underarms, and get back into the van. Judy and Paul Gill (Dennis's sister-in-law and brother) welcome us into their lovely home overlooking the sea in Botwood. They treat us to great conversation and fabulous food - Newfoundland salads galore! For dessert, an amazing surprise: an anniversary cake. Carrot, of course, as my Cugina knows me well. Of course it was Wendy's plan, but Judy kindly carried it out.?
?We are absolutely stuffed when we say our good-byes. We visit Dennis's parents' grave, tour the town, and head back to the Carriage House Inn.
This is a beautiful place! Around 15 rooms, all new, with every facility. Even Gordon Pinsent stays here when he's in his home town of Great Falls-Windsor.
We're in bed early, but it's still well past nine. ??
June 30, 2016
June 27, 2016
Pantser? Plotter? Plantser?
Lately I've encountered some terms that I didn't know existed in my writing world: pantser (going by the seat of your pants), plotter (planning ahead) or plantser (a little of both).
Pantser originates with flying an airplane: "the old flying expression of 'flies by the seat of his trousers' means going aloft without instruments, radio or other such luxuries."?
Plotter, of course, originates with plot: "1580s, "to lay plans for" (usually with evil intent); 1590s in the literal sense of "to make a map or diagram."?
Thus I suppose I can choose to fly through my writing or lay plans with evil intent. In crime/mystery writing, I can do both. And I do.
In life, I have been more of a pantser. I didn't really plan anything. I didn't follow rules. Get married, get divorced, get married, get divorced, get married; not planned or plotted. Even my children weren't planned. Flew through a couple of careers, landed in the country of education, where I drifted from grade to grade and role to role. Loved the kids, loved my fellow educators, but never loved the job itself.
The only thing I ever really wanted to do was write.? First I wanted to be a journalist, but I didn't follow through with plans to attend journalism school (listened to my parents instead). Got married the first time and became a bank teller. Then my mother told me I could make up to $100 a week being a teacher, so I flew into that. In those days, teachers' college was free and only one year long. Got divorced for the first time. Quit teaching after three years to travel around the world. Noticed I was pregnant, ditched the travel, and got married instead. Went to university, figuring I'd find my niche. When that didn't work, I went back to teaching. Luckily this profession provided enough pantsing and creativity, especially when surrounded by little people energy, that I stayed. Had another child, got another divorce. Remarried. Stayed that way, finally.
Throughout the flight of life, I submitted short stories and poems to the plethora of Canadian literary magazines that were subsidized and encouraged by government grants at the time. I took tons of creative writing courses and belonged to a critique group that lasted fifteen years. I just never really planned a career, though. I didn't pick a genre. I suppose my work fell under the category of general fiction, or on a really good day, literary fiction. I never sought an agent. I never submitted to a publisher, other than the new-writer friendly mags. Those, however, began to disappear until they are almost non-existent in Canada now.?
When I retired from teaching, I did become a little more of a plotter. I adopted my favourite reading genre - mystery. I began to submit to publishers, with the help of my daughter. Eventually, I discovered Imajin Books, who took a chance on me.
In my writing, however, I remain mostly a pantser, particularly when it comes to my choice of topic or style. I tend to write what I like. I don't include vampires because they sell. I don't follow the genre rules.? Even my "cozy" novellas are not cozy at all. This tendency goes a long way to explaining my lack of financial success.
Right now I'm writing scripts for movies. Even then, my children are doing the plotting and I'm putting air under the wings.?
When I reread this blog, I think, holy crap, do I sound bitter about my life? That would be a very wrong conclusion. No bitterness here. Confusion sometimes about certain choices I've made (regrets, I've had a few, but then again...). Generally, I look at my life as interesting, in the most complimentary way. I've been more than fortunate, especially for an old hippy rule breaker.
Using a clich¨¦ is frowned upon, so here is one: I've known great love. For me, that is the most important thing in the world. Great love drives all joys (as the lack of it can drive great sorrow and evil). I continue to love and be loved and for that, I am grateful. I couldn't have plotted a better scenario.?
Pantser originates with flying an airplane: "the old flying expression of 'flies by the seat of his trousers' means going aloft without instruments, radio or other such luxuries."?
Plotter, of course, originates with plot: "1580s, "to lay plans for" (usually with evil intent); 1590s in the literal sense of "to make a map or diagram."?
Thus I suppose I can choose to fly through my writing or lay plans with evil intent. In crime/mystery writing, I can do both. And I do.
In life, I have been more of a pantser. I didn't really plan anything. I didn't follow rules. Get married, get divorced, get married, get divorced, get married; not planned or plotted. Even my children weren't planned. Flew through a couple of careers, landed in the country of education, where I drifted from grade to grade and role to role. Loved the kids, loved my fellow educators, but never loved the job itself.
The only thing I ever really wanted to do was write.? First I wanted to be a journalist, but I didn't follow through with plans to attend journalism school (listened to my parents instead). Got married the first time and became a bank teller. Then my mother told me I could make up to $100 a week being a teacher, so I flew into that. In those days, teachers' college was free and only one year long. Got divorced for the first time. Quit teaching after three years to travel around the world. Noticed I was pregnant, ditched the travel, and got married instead. Went to university, figuring I'd find my niche. When that didn't work, I went back to teaching. Luckily this profession provided enough pantsing and creativity, especially when surrounded by little people energy, that I stayed. Had another child, got another divorce. Remarried. Stayed that way, finally.
Throughout the flight of life, I submitted short stories and poems to the plethora of Canadian literary magazines that were subsidized and encouraged by government grants at the time. I took tons of creative writing courses and belonged to a critique group that lasted fifteen years. I just never really planned a career, though. I didn't pick a genre. I suppose my work fell under the category of general fiction, or on a really good day, literary fiction. I never sought an agent. I never submitted to a publisher, other than the new-writer friendly mags. Those, however, began to disappear until they are almost non-existent in Canada now.?
When I retired from teaching, I did become a little more of a plotter. I adopted my favourite reading genre - mystery. I began to submit to publishers, with the help of my daughter. Eventually, I discovered Imajin Books, who took a chance on me.
In my writing, however, I remain mostly a pantser, particularly when it comes to my choice of topic or style. I tend to write what I like. I don't include vampires because they sell. I don't follow the genre rules.? Even my "cozy" novellas are not cozy at all. This tendency goes a long way to explaining my lack of financial success.
Right now I'm writing scripts for movies. Even then, my children are doing the plotting and I'm putting air under the wings.?
When I reread this blog, I think, holy crap, do I sound bitter about my life? That would be a very wrong conclusion. No bitterness here. Confusion sometimes about certain choices I've made (regrets, I've had a few, but then again...). Generally, I look at my life as interesting, in the most complimentary way. I've been more than fortunate, especially for an old hippy rule breaker.
Using a clich¨¦ is frowned upon, so here is one: I've known great love. For me, that is the most important thing in the world. Great love drives all joys (as the lack of it can drive great sorrow and evil). I continue to love and be loved and for that, I am grateful. I couldn't have plotted a better scenario.?
